


We are made of diamond stuff

by Gara_x



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Crying, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, The witcher ballet AU no one asked for, past neglect (mentioned), tags will be updated as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gara_x/pseuds/Gara_x
Summary: The Witcher ballet AU no one asked for.Title is borrowed from the novel by Isabel Waidner, who I can only hope never comes across this.
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 25
Kudos: 60





	1. Audition

Jaskier leaned against the toilet stall door, trying to calm his breathing. He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the erratic beating of his heart through his white leotard and the paper with his number pinned to it. _86_. This was it. Everything he owned was in a dirty black duffle bag slung over his lute case, and he was auditioning to perform with Geralt of Rivia's ballet company.

If he could just avoid hyperventilating and passing out before getting a chance to actually perform, it might all go according to plan. He felt dizzy and almost like he was about to throw up, although he hadn't eaten in days, saving all his money for this one way train ticket to Kaedwen. If he wasn't selected, he'd have to stay there until he could make enough money for a return. Not that he had a home to go back to, Jaskier thought bitterly, trying to keep his back straight as he left the toilet stall. He pinched himself to push the thought out of his mind, walking over to the mirror to wash his hands and splash cold water onto his face.

Jaskier adjusted his tights over his leotard, folding them down a little at the hips to hide a hole in the dark blue fabric, and dusted a light shimmery pigment across his cheekbones; he smiled at himself in the mirror, taking a couple of tries to make it convincing. It was time. 

'Number 86,' a voice called.

Jaskier entered quietly, trying to smile despite the ringing in his ears threatening to overwhelm him. The studio was large, linear fluorescent lamps casting an almost blinding white light down onto the sprung floor. Mirrors reflected his figure from two sides of the room, and in the far corner there was a piano, next to which sat none other than Geralt of Rivia himself, amber eyes looking Jaskier up and down. He wore a simple grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, his famous white hair tied up in a loose bun. 

'Hello, I'm Jaskier.'

Geralt waved his hand, disinterested. 'Begin.'

The music played before Jaskier had a chance to wrap his mind around what was happening, and he came in late. He recovered quickly, working his way through the piece he had practiced in stolen moments late at night. He saw himself reflected in flashes, briefly noted that the hole in his tights was showing again. The mournful tones of the cello piece guided his movements, but as he leapt across the floor he felt a deep ache growing in his chest. 

Last time he'd practiced it had felt like flying, and he'd imagined himself on stage with Geralt's company, showing what was in his heart to the entire continent. People would clap for him, throwing flowers instead of bottles and rotten vegetables, and he could afford food whenever he wanted it. But now, under the too bright lights and the piercing amber gaze, the image disappeared and he knew he had been foolish. He could feel every misstep, every unsteady landing, until-

'Stop,' Geralt said.

Jaskier paused, dimly aware that he could no longer hear the music, trying to process what was wrong. He had been off balance, maybe if he tried the jump sequence again-

'I said _stop_ ,' Geralt repeated, standing up from his seat and walking across the studio.

Jaskier froze. 'I'm sorry, I can do better, I just-'

'Hmm. Don't talk. It says in your application that you trained with Yennefer of Vengerberg,' Geralt said, raising his eyebrow.

'Yes, well, when I say trained, it was more like-'

'A complete fabrication? Your technique is off, and you're trying things way above your strength level. You nearly twisted your ankle right in front of me and then disobeyed a direct instruction to stop. If Yen had seen what you just tried to pull she would've marched you out of this studio by your ear.'

Jaskier looked down, toying with the number pinned to his leotard, feeling tears starting to well up. 'I'm sorry.'

'So am I. Next.'

'Wait, please. I-I'm sorry.' 

'You already said that.'

Jaskier was panicking. He hadn't even gotten through the whole piece, and already he was being thrown out. He couldn't lose this chance; he had nowhere else to go. Taking a breath, he willed himself not to cry in front of Geralt of fucking Rivia.

'I was disowned by my family when I was sixteen,' he said, looking at the floor. 'I've spent the past three years homeless, playing songs on street corners for money. Last week a drunk beat the shit out of me because he thought I looked at him funny. I can't afford classes, I sneak into my local studio at night to practice, I've spent all my money on a one way ticket here. I know I'm not good enough, but I can learn. Please, just let me show you. Please.'

'I don't need your story,' Geralt said, but his amber eyes softened just a little. 'Take it from the top. No jumps.'

The music began. Jaskier was shaking; he started the piece again, distantly aware of tears falling down his cheeks, cooling as he turned. He blinked them away, focusing on a painting on the other side of the room to help him spot his turns. He put everything into the performance, smiling, floating across the studio. 

When it was over he was panting hard, feeling like he was about to collapse with the rush of emotions: exhaustion, hunger, longing, _despair_. He looked up at Geralt, who was shaking his head. His stomach sank. 

'Jaskier, can I be honest with you?'

He nodded, biting his lip. It had been a stupid idea, hoping to impress this man who had worked with all the legends of the dance world. 

'Your performance is graceful and raw, but you're not going to get hired by any of the major companies. You don't have the technique or the strength, and making up recommendations isn't going to win you any favours.'

Jaskier looked down, shaking with the effort he was making not to break down in front of Geralt. 'I'm sorry.'

'You can write to Yennefer and apologise to her.'

'I will. T-thank you for your time,' Jaskier said, his voice breaking.

Geralt sighed. 'I'm looking for an assistant to help me with the junior school. You can live here if you want, use the studios, maybe join in with some of the company classes.'

'I-what?'

'It's not glamorous work,' Geralt shrugged. 

'Oh, _gods_ ,' Jaskier collapsed to the floor and sobbed, unable to contain it any longer. 'I don't know how to thank you, you won't regret it, I'm going to practice every day-' he said, crying into his hands. 

Geralt walked over to the piano, picking up a box of tissues and crouching down next to Jaskier to pass him a few. 'If I catch you trying anything without my say, you're out.'


	2. Amber Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AMA about ballet or how this stuff works! For now you prob need to know that the company ranks are:  
> Principal dancer | First soloist | Soloist | First Artist | Artist

When auditions finished, Geralt went to retrieve Jaskier from the reception area, where he sat fiddling with a delicate silver link bracelet that was slightly too big for his wrist. He had changed out of his dance clothes and was now wearing a blue t-shirt with rolled up sleeves and a washed out pair of black skinny jeans. He sat up straighter when he saw Geralt approach, and promptly stopped his fidgeting. 

'You can leave your bags with Marilka,' Geralt said, nodding at the receptionist, who was on her phone adding a dog ear filter to one of her pictures. 'I'll give you the tour of the building.'

He started with the common area where they sometimes gathered to play games, watch films, and wind down. The sofas and bean bags were neatly arranged around a large television screen; it looked surprisingly clean given the messy game of 'I Have Never' that had been ongoing when Geralt had retired to bed the previous evening. 

They went past the largest studio on the ground floor, where some of the company dancers were rehearsing in smaller groups. Jaskier stopped to stare, wide-eyed, as Valdo lifted Essi above his head with one hand before gently lowering her onto his shoulders and spinning her. It wasn't their tidiest work, but Geralt could see Jaskier's look, and it was familiar in a way that he didn't wish to remember, a way that made his chest tighten under its pull.

'We're doing Amber Waves for the summer run,' Geralt said.

'Eskel's new ballet?'

Geralt nodded, taking in Jaskier's wide smile. He had worn that look himself, when he'd first seen the great Vesemir dance on an old tape his mother watched when she was in a mood. He imagined himself on stage, leaping through their cluttered living room until -

 _Stop. You need to stop,_ she'd said, her voice faint. 

Geralt had been six years old when Visenna was declared unfit to care for him. He hadn't understood what that meant at the time, but knew that it had something to do with the day she'd sent him inside the supermarket to buy her some water, and when he'd returned carrying it she had already driven off. He remembered holding the plastic bottle, icy drops of condensation dripping down his arm as he cried out for her in the empty parking lot.

'Strength _and_ grace, Melitele preserve me, how is this just?' Jaskier said, interrupting his thoughts. He was still watching Valdo and Essi, cornflower blue eyes shining with determination and want.

And Geralt knew that look too, didn't he?

It had come later, after the parking lot, after stranger upon stranger had been satisfied with his answers, after he'd been taken into the group home where he had his food stolen and chairs kicked out from underneath him - unsophisticated, in the way cruelty often was - after everyone had expected him to be strong and no one had asked him if he was afraid. It came when he won a term of dance lessons though a school competition, and, once a week, he was finally allowed to _move_. He'd relished it, held on to the order and the neat lines of classical ballet to save himself. 

Geralt took a breath and willed his expression into something neutral. He continued the tour, showing Jaskier the canteen. 'Marilka will get you a pass, and you just scan it at the check-out.'

'I can't believe this is happening,' Jaskier said.

'Don't get too excited, it tends to be organic and healthy. You can thank our nutritionist Chireadan for that.'

'That's not what I meant-'

'I know.'

They continued the tour in silence, with Geralt leading the way up the narrow spiral staircase to the first floor. He was about to tell Jaskier about the best places to get coffee - anywhere but the little shop around the corner, which served the weakest espresso he'd ever tried - when he heard a gasp. Turning around, he saw Jaskier nearly pressed up against the window of a smaller studio door. 

'Oh gods, is that Renfri? Stregobor made such a mistake when he let her go.'

Geralt tightened and released his fist. He had lost his temper with enough people that even now, those in the company, usually desperate for gossip, limited their whispers and changed the subject. In the studio, Renfri floated across the floor with effortless turns; Geralt tried to push away the memory of sitting on sofa with her, holding her in his arms as she cried after Stregobor had turned violent. 

'She's flawless, how is she real?' Jaskier continued, oblivious. 

Geralt gave a small shake of his head; the principal dancer elicited that response wherever she went. 'When you meet her, please don't say that, she'll be insufferable for days and I'm going to have to listen to it.'

Jaskier smiled brightly and continued to stare at Renfri, until Geralt cleared his throat and the dancer jumped in his haste to follow him. 

In the second biggest studio on the first floor, they watched Eskel demonstrate an exercise to his junior contemporary class.

'Last part - rounded back over, touch your toes, and come up to your knees, pulling up to your chest on four. Hands on your heart, release your right arm out with your palm up, and look to your right.' 

The group of teenagers followed him with their eyes, intense concentration written across their young features.

'Now you try. Five, six, seven, and-' he counted the group in, watching them. 'Loosen those arms, this isn't ballet,' he said with a smirk in Geralt's direction. 'Yes! Better.'

When they finished, Eskel motioned for everyone to sit. 'Well done, I'm really impressed with how much progress you've made, even from last week. Before we stop - who can tell me what Mr Lambert says about winners?'

A girl with messy red hair raised her hand, and he walked over to where she perched by the barre, sitting cross-legged in front of her. 'Yes, Anya?'

'Losers quit when they're tired, winners quit when they've won,' she said like she'd heard it repeated many times. 

'Yes, exactly. And I've already told you about taking breaks when you're tired, but I have something very, very important to add. You want to know what that is?'

The students all turned to him, some nodding eagerly. Anya looked as though she had stopped breathing. Geralt could hear a hair pin drop, and he was once again impressed with the way Eskel commanded the attention of his class.

'Winners quit when it's time for pizza,' he said, and everyone laughed. 'Class dismissed.'

The group ran up to hug him goodbye, and Geralt smiled, in spite of himself. He had a way with the younger dancers, who wanted to do well for him not because they were afraid but because he inspired each of them to do their best. Eskel could not have cared less about who ended up joining the company, but he wanted them all to grow into a version of themselves that they could be proud of. 

Once the last of the teens had left the studio with a shy look in Geralt and Jaskier's direction, Eskel walked over with a spring in his step. 'Wolf,' he said, pulling him into a hug. Geralt struggled, but Eskel pressed himself closer against his chest. 'To what do I owe this visit, and who do you have with you?'

'This is Jaskier, who will be assisting with the junior ballet classes. I'm just showing him around.'

' _Jaskier_ ,' he repeated, the name sounding almost like a melody in his soft voice, a little hoarse from teaching all day. He took Jaskier's hand, holding it in both of his. 'I'm Eskel.'

'I know,' Jaskier said, looking at him like he'd hung the moon. 'I mean, uh, pleased to meet you,' he corrected himself, but Eskel just laughed, spinning him around once.

'First arabesque, forty-five degrees,' Eskel instructed, and Jaskier obediently bent forward from the hip on one leg with one arm extended in front of him and the other arm and leg backward. 'That's it, drop this shoulder. Lovely extension,' he said, adjusting the position of his fingers with a lingering touch. 'So, where did Geralt find you, little bird?' 

Geralt huffed; he often asked himself whether Eskel was a shameless flirt, or if he was just more open, free with his smiles and his touches. He seemed to behave like that with everyone he took a liking to, but as far as Geralt knew he only really had eyes for Lambert. 

'I auditioned for the company,' Jaskier said. 'It, uh, didn't go very well,' he continued, stealing a look in Geralt's direction. It was somewhat of an understatement, since the young man had spent nearly twenty minutes crying on the floor, but he let it slide.

'Didn't even make artist rank?' Eskel regarded him curiously. 'And yet here you are.'

Jaskier blushed. Eskel raised an eyebrow but didn't comment; Geralt knew that he would wait until later to ask him for the full story of Jaskier's audition, and no doubt tell him that he was getting soft. Now, Eskel simply guided Jaskier back into a resting position. 'Join the contemporary open class on Saturday. I want to see what you can do.'

The last stop was on the second floor, which housed some of the dancers and staff who lived on-site. Geralt showed Jaskier to one of the spare rooms, where his bags were already waiting, instrument case propped up carefully against the wall.

'It's not much,' Geralt said of the small room with a double bed, a wardrobe and a desk, but instantly regretted it when he saw the look on Jaskier's face. Of course, Jaskier didn't have a home - he probably hadn't slept in a real bed for a long time.

The young dancer opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked on the verge of tears again. 'Thank you.'

'Have you had lunch yet?'

Jaskier shook his head, looking at his feet.

'I'll have Marilka bring you something. Get some rest.'

Geralt taught the company evening ballet class, noting vaguely that Valdo and Essi were engaged in even more whispering than usual when they weren't needed in the centre. Renfri and Philippa were on top of their game, as always; overall the production was coming together nicely, although a few of the artists looked ill - probably hung over. 

He returned to his room on the third floor to see a missed call and a message from Ailen, a dancer from Novigrad who was in Kaedwen for three months to work on a collaboration with a film producer.

'Fuck,' he said out loud. A missed call didn't bode well; they had been seeing each other for a few weeks, but their last talk had been a disaster. 

'Geralt, where is this going?' Ailen had asked while they were lying in bed still fully clothed, having just returned from a new downtown bar opening night. 

'Hmm.'

The sinking feeling he'd had rolled through his body again. He'd wanted so badly to find words; to say that they'd only been together a handful of times, that it was too soon, that they were both busy, that Ailen would leave to return to Novigrad and then where would they be? But with Ailen in bed next to him, soft blonde curls framing his stony face as he waited for an answer, Geralt found that he was unable to voice any of those thoughts.

The silence grew, until his lover stood. 'I need to leave,' he said, walking out of the room.

'Damn it, Ailen, this is your house!' Geralt had shouted after him, only to hear the front door slam in response.

After sitting on Ailen's bed for a while, gathering his thoughts and breathing in the smoky and slightly floral scent of him, Geralt had left feeling a little bruised, and although he'd typed out many versions of a text, something had come up each time he'd considered sending it, until now, and now -

_I really like you, and I'd like to stay in touch, but I don't think this thing between us is working out. I hope Amber Waves goes well. A x_

Geralt sat on the edge of his bed, re-reading the words. He tossed the phone onto his pillow and decided to go for a walk.

The building was silent when he returned. Even the common area was empty, save for a lone pointe shoe and a discarded cardigan. Geralt walked upstairs, turning the lights off as he went. He'd been about to close the door of the smaller studio on the first floor when he noticed the figure in the centre.

 _Jaskier_.

Geralt hung back, watching him. He was practicing his audition piece with a determined look, holding his développés and attitudes rather than rushing though them. Geralt was pleased to note that he seemed focused on his technique and just marked the more advanced jumps. 

Jaskier noticed him in the mirror and started. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know if I was allowed to be in here, I'll go-'

'Continue,' Geralt said, walking over to stand beside him and observe closely. 'Slow it down so you can really feel the movement.'

Jaskier raised his leg to ninety degrees, and then higher. Geralt noticed that he wasn't concentrating on his turnout, which slipped a little as he went through the motion. He was breathing fast, looking almost afraid. 

'May I?' Geralt said, reaching out for Jaskier, who nodded. 

Geralt placed one hand on the small of his back and turned his raised leg slightly outwards with the other. 'Open your hip,' he said, guiding him. 'That's good. More.'

A quiet gasp escaped Jaskier. 

'Does that hurt?'

Jaskier shook his head. Geralt saw a blush spread across his cheeks and all the way down his neck.

'You better not be lying to me. If it hurts, don't push it.'

'It doesn't hurt.'

'Good,' Geralt said, releasing his leg carefully. 'I want to see this piece again, and then maybe you can join the ballet open class.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ballet title Amber Waves is from the Tori Amos song with the same name (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1esejk0d7k)
> 
> Also, I remember seeing a witcher ballet art somewhere and if anyone has that link pls @ me so I can flail at them


End file.
